Saving You
by Edina Clouds
Summary: Tag to "Born Under A Bad Sign" - written for the SSA "Dean & Pie" short story competition.  Dean didn't want Sammy to know he'd been shot; didn't want his brother to find out who pulled the trigger! But sometimes we can't always get what we want.
1. Chapter 1

Written for SSA's "Dean & Pie" short story competition. This story is complete – I'll post all chapters over the next few days in honour of the end of Hellatus! Hope you like it.

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><p><strong>Saving you<strong> – Chapter 1

"Damn it," Dean groaned, pressing the clean towel against the seeping shoulder wound. He stared in the mirror, at a reflection that was hard to recognize. Dark, weary eyes were clear evidence of exhaustion; he'd not slept in days, not since Sammy had gone missing. Now his brother was safe, sitting bewildered in the next room, oblivious to the damage he'd caused. "_Way to go bro_," he thought as blood continued to seep through the white cloth.

The tap at the door was barely audible. "Hey Dean … you okay in there?"

"Yeah Sammy … m'okay."

It was a lie, designed to reassure his worried brother. He was far from okay and he knew it; Sam's crushing hand had torn Jo's "make-do" stitching, which was why he'd started to bleed again. And his attempts to re-seal the wound were having little effect. He desperately needed medical attention but a trip to the local hospital was out of the question; they'd know he'd been shot and call the cops. It would be too big a risk so soon after Milwaukee.

He should've told Bobby, should've asked for the help he desperately needed. But he didn't want Sam to find out what he'd done while possessed; poor kid was already feeling guilty enough. He could see the pain in his younger brother's eyes; felt for him when he'd told him he'd been awake when Wandell had died (seen the light go out of his eyes). He was surprised but thankful that Meg hadn't forced his brother to watch when she'd shot him; when he'd taken that nose dive into the river, into the ice-cold blackness.

He'd fought for his life in that river, fought frantically to get to the surface, his lungs crying out for air. And he'd barely made it out; "one arm only" swimming a severe hindrance. By the time Jo had found him he was barely conscious; shock from the loss of blood kicking in. She'd done her best to patch him up, to pull out the bullet; clean the wound; stitch him up. But her med-kit had been limited, had lacked the medication that he needed, the antibiotics he should've been taking from day one. He'd swallowed polluted river water and bacteria had washed into the open bullet wound. Judging by the way he looked right now he was paying the price; the shoulder was badly infected.

Fever-flushed he felt his legs begin to shake. Grabbing the sink he tried to maintain his balance, but when the room began to spin he knew he'd lost his fight with gravity and gave in, collapsing onto the bathroom floor. Shivering uncontrollably he tried to call for his brother, but lacked the energy even for that. Closing his eyes he welcomed blessed oblivion.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**Saving you** - Chapter 2

Sam had been pacing outside, convinced there was a problem his "oh so stoic" brother wasn't telling him about. He knocked again on the bathroom door, more urgently this time.

"Dean," he called out, louder.

The lack of response scared him. He tried the door handle and found it frustratingly locked. Decision made, he readied himself for his next move. He knew his brother would be pissed at him if everything really was okay. _Yeah and if he believed that he'd believe anything! _

A moose-large foot struck out at the paper-thin door easily kicking it down. Sam barged his way into the cramped room to find Dean lying unconscious on the floor, blood seeping from his shoulder; fever-hot.

"Dean," he cried out frantically, checking for a pulse and relieved when he finally found one, albeit faint.

Desperate to get his brother up off the cold, damp floor Sam lifted him into his arms and swept into the bedroom. Dean groaned as his younger brother lowered him gently onto his bed.

"S'mmy," he mumbled, head tossing from side to side. "Where? … s'gone … gotta find."

"Sh," Sam whispered. "S'okay … I'm right here … I'm right here, Dean."

Grabbing a clean towel Sam gently wiped the blood from Dean's shoulder, noticing for the first time the torn stitches that were failing to keep the seeping wound closed.

"What the hell?" he murmured, instantly recognizing that his brother had been shot. But why hadn't Dean told him? That fact alone had given Sam his answer – because he'd been the one to pull the trigger!

Grabbing their med-kit he set about cleaning the wound before carefully tying off what was left of the old sutures (removing them would cause further damage). Lost in fever-induced sleep Dean called out in anguish as Sam applied the last of the new stitches.

He set about cleaning the shoulder again; removing fresh blood. "Easy bro," he said, when Dean flinched at the sting of the antiseptic wipe. With the area of the wound clean and dry Sam pinned a new dressing in place and then pulled a crisp-white sheet over his brother's shivering torso. Task complete he remained seated on the bed, hand resting lightly on Dean's outstretched arm; reassurance as much for himself as for his seriously ill brother.

And then it hit him; the events of the past week; the horror of demonic possession, of what Meg had forced him to do; the shock of finding out that Dean had been shot – and realising that he'd probably done it. And he suddenly found himself shaking.

Retreating to the bathroom he turned on the faucet, washing the sticky-wet blood from his hands; Dean's blood. Splashing cool water onto his face he stared at his reflection.

"Get a friggin' hold of yourself, Sam Winchester," he muttered. "It wasn't your fault; it wasn't you, it was that demon-bitch Meg. Only one thing matters – Dean, so get back in there and help him!"

It was the slap to the face he needed; the only thing that made sense; the only thing to knock him out of the spiral of self-pity and regret.

Returning to his brother's side fully composed and with purpose Sam checked the dressing for leakage. A few specks of blood stained the fresh-white fabric but apart from that the bandage was relatively clean. Dean, sweat-soaked, mumbled incoherently as Sam, relieved that the new stitches were holding, switched focus to the main area of concern - infection. He'd seen the angry-red skin that surrounded the wound; noted his brother's too-high temperature. He needed antibiotics – and he needed them now!

But seeking professional help wasn't an option, especially with the Feds after them. No, it was clear - they needed Bobby. He'd be able to bring in fresh medical supplies; he'd know how best to treat the fever. Thankfully they hadn't driven far from his place, Dean having suggested an early "stop off," to help Sam recover from his ordeal; the irony hadn't escaped the younger Winchester as he dialled their friend's number.

"Sam? ... You two alright?" Bobby questioned, instantly sensing something was wrong.

"No ... we're not; he's not ... its Dean, Bobby ... I think Meg shot him ... I think I shot him."

"Where are you? What d'ya need?" The words were matter-of-fact, but conveyed all that Sam needed to hear. _"I'm here for you ... I'm on my way."_


	3. Chapter 3

**Saving you** - Chapter 3

Moments later Bobby had the exact co-ordinates and a full list of medical requirements. He said he'd be there within the hour; he was there thirty minutes later. Sam knew Bobby had pulled out all the stops to get to them so fast; knew he'd driven at "break-neck speed." And he was grateful.

Wringing out a soaked cloth, Sam ran the cooled linen across his brother's fevered brow, whilst Bobby hooked up the urgently needed IV. Carefully lifting the dressing the older hunter cursed when he saw the inflamed wound.

"Friggin' demons," he growled. And then in a softer voice, "Good job on the re-stitching Sam ... they won't be breaking anytime soon."

"Thanks, Bobby," the younger Winchester breathed. "And thanks for coming."

"You think I'd be any place else? You boys are family ... only one I got."

As if in response Dean opened his eyes, "Bobby?" he mumbled.

"Yeah kid ... it's me."

Recognizing his friend's voice Dean grabbed his arm, fingers tightening with fear and anguish.

"Need to find S'mmy, Bobby," he mumbled. "He's missing ... gotta find him."

"You found him son ... he's right here, you understand me ... he's here, you saved him." But the older Winchester had not heard; had already drifted back into a fever induced sleep.

"I did this," Sam growled. "I shot him ... beat the crap outta him ... you were there, you saw what I did ... how could he let me do that, why didn't he stop me?"

"And how was he supposed to do that, with Meg pulling your goddamed strings? It's not like he had many options here Sam … you gotta accept none of this was your fault." Bobby reassured him.

"I'm trying to," Sam murmured, "but look at him … he needs to be in a hospital getting real help, not here with us in a stinking, cheap motel room."

Bobby knew he had a point – what could he possibly say in answer to that? The kid was right.

"And what about you," Sam continued, on a roll now, unable to control what he said next. "You knew he was beat up, so why'd you let him leave?" He hadn't meant it to be an accusation - he was just pissed. Not at Bobby but at Meg, at the crap life they led, at himself, but most of all, he was pissed at his brother, because once again he'd taken a bullet for him – in this case quite literally.

"You think I knew about this," Bobby nodded towards Dean. "You honestly think I would've let him leave if I'd known."

Sam was about to respond; about to tell his friend that of course he knew; about to apologise for being an ass when his brother cried out, body convulsing. Rushing to calm him before he did some damage - pulled his stitches, knocked out the IV tube – Bobby held Dean tightly, whispering reassurances, "S'kay … I gotcha … it's okay."

Sam, shocked by his brother's sudden outcry looked at the older hunter for direction. And got it; "What's his temperature?" Bobby asked.

Moments later Sam had the answer. "104 ... that's higher than before. He's not getting any better … we need to get him to a hospital … take our chances."

"You know we can't do that boy. You're both America's most wanted right now … d'you wanna end up in jail?"

"At least Dean would be alive."

"Yeah … but for how long? Think about it. You and him," he nodded at Dean, "locked away in a damn prison cell. You'd be sitting ducks … you wouldn't last five minutes. Meg and every other demonic bastard would be fighting for a piece of ya."

Sam knew his friend was right. He just felt so helpless. His brother was getting worse; could be dying and he didn't know how to stop it.

"We gotta get his fever down ... and fast," Bobby murmured. "We can't wait for the antibiotics to kick in … we're gonna have to do it the hard way. Go get some ice Sam."

Moments later they were wrapping up frozen blocks in towels and placing them under Dean's neck; between his legs; under his arms; the places where main arteries run close to the surface.

In response the older Winchester tried to push away the ice-cold material; tried to free himself from freezing oppression. But Sam held him; spoke soothing words of comfort; calmed him.

"We gotta watch him now Sam," Bobby said, "If his temperature falls too quickly he could go into shock."

He lifted Dean's head, held a glass of cool water to his lips; coaxed him to swallow a few drops of the refreshing liquid.

"Keep him hydrated ... a few drops every half-hour or so ... and we'll check his temperature every hour on the hour."

He placed the glass on the bedside table and pulled a sheet over his shivering friend.

Sitting on the edge of his brother's bed Sam carefully lifted the bandage to check that the stitches were holding.

"If you didn't stitch him up before," he said to Bobby. "Then who did?"

"I have no idea," the older hunter answered, pouring a fresh cup of black coffee. "Think that damned fool brother of yours has a lotta explaining to do when he wakes up.


	4. Chapter 4

Here's the next chapter - a little homage to Bobby

**Saving you** – Chapter 4

Throughout the long night they monitored Dean carefully until slowly but surely his temperature began to fall. Hours later Bobby ushered an exhausted Sam to his bed. "I'll sit with him," he reassured. "You need to rest."

Certain that his brother was in good hands he acquiesced, collapsing onto the adjacent bed. Within minutes he was asleep.

Although Dean's temperature was still high, mercifully it had fallen below the danger point. Bobby pulled away the melted ice packs and used a warmed towel to dry his friend. And then pulling a blanket over the still shivering body he sat close by, flicking through a day old newspaper; drinking cold, black coffee.

Half an hour later Dean stirred.

"Sammy ... no ... Rather ... die," he mumbled, head tossing from side to side.

Hand stroking sweat-damp hair Bobby whispered words of comfort.

"S'okay son ... its okay." And then, in a frustrated tone, he continued. "Dammit Dean ... you goaddamned idjit – why didn't you tell me you were hurt? Why d'ya have to be so god-damned pig headed."

Dean turned towards him then, but didn't open his eyes. Bobby rechecked his temperature; readjusted the IV; ran a damp cloth across his parched lips.

"Always the big brother ain't ya ... always gotta look after Sammy, look after everyone ... no matter what the cost to yourself."

He hated seeing his "so-full-of-life" friend like this – it was unnatural. Dean never got sick; was always the strong one, the one everybody relied on. And that's why he'd always been Bobby's favourite. That didn't mean he loved Sam less, on the contrary; as far as heart strings were concerned both tugged equally on his. It was just that he'd watched Dean grow up, the whole world on his shoulders – no time to be a kid; too many responsibilities. His baby brother needed looking after; his Dad needed "looking" after as well, especially after one of John's benders. And it didn't end there – ammo to load, guns to clean; dishes to wash; a whole plethora of responsibilities way too big for such young shoulders. It was why he'd fallen out so badly with John Winchester; why he'd pulled that shotgun on him; why they'd not spoken for so many years.

He still remembered it clearly, how he'd taken Dean on a fishing trip, tried to let him experience what it was like to be a kid – just for a little while. John had gone ballistic; had driven like hell fire to take the boys away; had slammed into him about minding his own business. And then there was the pointless diatribe about him not being a father himself, not being able to understand. But he understood alright, knew first-hand the difference between a good Dad and a "God-awful" one. And so he'd snapped – kicked John off his property and paid the too high a price of not seeing his Winchester boys for years after.

"Get better, boy," Bobby whispered, eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "Sam needs ya ... I need ya." He settled back in his chair, eyes focussed on the still-sleeping Winchester and waited.


	5. Chapter 5

Here's the final chapter – hope you like it. Thanks for reading.

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><p><strong><span>Saving you<span>** - Chapter 5

Initially Sam slept soundly, sheer exhaustion a welcome friend, keeping the nightmares at bay. But eventually dark memories began to disturb his slumber; disturbing images began to invade his dreams.

_Thick black smoke was forcing itself down his throat, the distinct smell of sulphur invading his nostrils; ensnaring his mind; imprisoning him inside his own body. He was struggling to regain control, fighting the creature inside him. But Meg was tightening her grip, enslaving his soul, allowing him consciousness only on her own terms. _

_He was holding a struggling man, hearing his pleas for mercy intermingled with the demonic voice inside his head. "Take a good look Sammy," Meg cooed as the knife he was holding sliced through flesh and bone, cutting Wandell's throat. "I want you to see him die." She was forcing him to watch as blood gushed from the jagged wound; she was forcing him to watch as the light faded from eyes that were once life-bright. And then her laughter filled his mind. "Your brother's next," she breathed. "Now pick up the phone and tell him where we are."_

Nightmare images continued to darken his dreams:

_He was hunting his brother, Meg still in control of his body; in control of his voice. "You should've seen your face when you thought he murdered that guy ... pathetic ... you can't hurt me, not without killing your little brother ... you're gonna die Dean you and every hunter I can find." _

_And then he was standing gun in hand, his brother only yards away, unaware of the danger. He was trying to fight Meg, trying to regain control, to call out – to warn Dean. But he wasn't strong enough; "Say bye, bye Sammy," Meg whispered, squeezing the trigger. The gun-shot echoed off the dock-side buildings. Dean disappeared into the inky-black water. And trapped inside his possessed body Sam screamed. _

"Sam wake up ... wake up … SAM!" Bobby's voice was urgent, demanding.

Shaken from his nightmares he awoke, sweat-soaked and breathless fighting the hands that held him.

"Easy, boy … easy … it's me," the older hunter murmured.

Finally recognizing his friend, Sam suddenly remembered where he was; why he was there. And he panicked, instantly afraid for his brother, frantically looking over at Dean.

"Easy ... easy," Bobby reassured, "Dean's okay ... sorry I had to wake you … figured you must've been having one douzey of a nightmare … just wanted to snap you out of it."

Sam sat up, looked over at his still sleeping brother.

"Fever broke 'bout an hour ago ... he's sleeping peacefully now."

Eager to resume his "worrying-over-big-brother" duties, Sam got up. But Bobby was quick to reassign a much needed, different task – a hot food run. Reluctant to leave his brother, but his growling stomach protesting that the older hunter had a point, Sam left the room, supply run list in hand.

Over an hour later he was back and the smell of freshly baked bagels filled the room.

"Smells good," Dean murmured, propped up against a pile of pillows.

Instantly Sam felt the relief; felt it wash away a multitude of perceived sins. His brother was going to be okay – yeah he looked like shit; was still very weak but he was going to be okay. He shucked off his jacket and placed the supplies on the table. Dean eyed the brown paper bag excitedly.

"You got pie?" he smiled.

And for the first time in what felt like a long while Sam smiled too. He may have been born under a bad sign but he'd been raised by an awesome big brother, who would save him.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Dean," he teased. "What do you think Bobby?"

"I think it'd be too rich for him right now," the older hunter answered, straight-faced. "Gotta take it slow ... maybe start with a few grapes or even a banana." He winked at Sam.

Dean looked on miserably as his brother began extracting a multitude of "healthy" snacks from the over-stuffed bag – apples; grapes; bananas. The only things that promised any form of culinary satisfaction were the oven fresh bagels. That was until Sam retrieved the final item from the grocery sack - a large slice of key-lime pie, its thick meringue topping as white as snow.

With a flourish he held it up for Dean to see.

"That's awesome, Sammy," his brother grinned, as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Sam placed the extravagant dessert on the bedside table. It would be there when Dean woke up; they would be there when Dean woke up!

THE END


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